


Breaking The Ice

by BoStarsky



Series: Assorted Kylux [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Brendol Hux is the biggest dick, Fluff, Hockey AU, Hurt/Comfort, Hux is a smol bean with a hard exterior, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kylo’s full name is Obi Wan, M/M, Maz is a badass, Maz won’t let him forget it, POV Alternating, except for Kylo’s actual dick, he needs help, inapptopriate use of a glass eye, kylo has zero modesty, kylo’s Anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoStarsky/pseuds/BoStarsky
Summary: Ignoring the noise of a crowd comes easy to Hux as he glides along the Ice. It does nothing to interrupt his flow as he enthrals them, demanding the attention of every soul.Ignoring the enraged screaming of a hockey player on the other hand is much more difficult.





	Breaking The Ice

**Author's Note:**

> The Kylux hockey AU nobody asked for, but hopefully someone wants. Hit me up on tumblr (BoStarsky), I’m lonely.

Ignoring the noise of a crowd comes easy to Hux as he glides along the Ice. It does nothing to interrupt his flow as he enthrals them, demanding the attention of every soul. Effortlessly spinning into a series of pirouettes ending in a simple toe loop, performed to perfection. He’s good, he knows he is. He’s the best, as his father trained him to be. Long hours of hard work and unforgiving practice has honed him into the perfect skater. 

Ignoring the enraged screaming of a hockey player on the other hand is much more difficult. Sliding to a stop, he turns to watch the lumbering sasquatch of a man yell an impressive string of profanities. The puck evading his stick among the little, orange cones dotting the ice. The man, he’s seen him around before, Kyle something, takes a deep breath, lining up for another run. He moves with determination, no finesse in his footwork, quickly resulting in him stumbling over a cone, the puck slipping away once more. For a second Hux thinks the beast may actually contain himself, then he snaps the stick in half like it was a twig.

Hux scoffs at the uncouth display, the brute whipping around to fix him with the mother of all scowls. He can feel the anger radiating across the rink. Refusing to let the ape intimidate him he stares back, sneering at his unruly, black hair and the raw scar splitting his face. He stands his ground until Kyle makes a rude gesture, raising an unimpressed eyebrow he glides back into his routine. He has better things to do than hold staring matches with uncivilised apes. 

He’d never admit that he puts on a show, just in case Kyle is watching. Let the Neanderthal see what real skating is, hockey is merely an excuse for distasteful violence. It’s amazing how many people pay credits to attend a testosterone fuelled rage fest which always leaves the clean ice stained red. Such a waste. 

Kyle is still there, screaming into the abyss, when Hux retires for the day. He can feel heavy eyes upon him as he weaves through the cones with ease on his way out, Hux refuses to meet his gaze. Let him stew in his own incompetence. 

It becomes an everyday occurrence after that, the brute apparently living at the rink. He’s there when Hux arrives, there when he leaves. At least he’s dedicated, if nothing else. He always makes sure to show off a little extra every time he passes by, revelling in the burning glares aimed at his back. If he has to share the rink, he’ll be as annoying to Kyle as Kyle is to him, however petty it may be. 

He’s not quite sure when it stops being fun and becomes pitiful. At some point during the last week Kylo’s frustration manages to draw an unwanted pang of sympathy from him. He stops showing off. Instead shifting his focus back to his own training, trying to ignore the sound of wood snapping. 

That night, he pats Kyle on one massive shoulder as he glides by and immediately regrets it. If his father had seen him do such a thing he’d be wearing bruises tomorrow. Never show sympathy. Never let them know you’re anything less than the perfect machine you’ve been raised to be. 

The gaze burning into his back feels slightly less hostile after that. 

———

“Teach me.” The words are clipped, sounding like it physically hurts Kyle to speak them. 

“Why should I?” In his opinion Kyle should just quit, he’s obviously not made to be on the ice. He should stop wasting his time and find something else to do. Hux certainly won’t let the ape waste his. 

He doesn’t get an answer, Kyle only scowls even harder and goes back to his orange cones and broken hockey sticks. Maybe he knows he’s a lost cause himself. Why he thought Hux could teach him anything he’ll never know. 

A week later he understands why as he watches highlights from this year’s intergalactic hockey season on the holoscreen in his dentist’s office. He sees Kyle, Kylo “The Hurricane” Ren, become an unstoppable force on the ice, sudden and deadly. From what he can gather, Ren is well loved by the rabid crowd, their cheering becoming unbearably loud as Ren knocks a man out cold. The gratuitous violence makes his skin crawl. 

Then, as he’s about to turn his attention elsewhere, a woman lays him out on the ice like he was nothing. The bold tackle draws several more players into a bloody fight and in the midst of the commotion the woman slips. Blood spreads on the ice. He can make a guess at what’s happened, but the holoscreen offers a helpful recap in slow motion of her skate slashing open Ren’s face. 

It’s a brutal scene Hux finds difficult to watch, but the cameras show no respect as medical droids remove Ren from the ice. Following the unconscious man as far as they can. It does, however paint him a clearer picture of why Kylo is the way he is. 

———

He finds Kylo in the same corner of the rink he’s been destroying for the past five weeks. Destroying it even further. This close up Hux can feel the anger radiating off of the man, it’s a wonder the ice hasn’t melted from the burning rage. 

“I will not tolerate violence or disrespect. You do as I say or you can forget the whole thing.” He leaves no room for an answer, just turns away and finds his own corner. Charity work is below him and he is not in the habit of handing it out, this is a one time offer and he hopes Kylo knows that much and responds accordingly. If the brute can’t even follow a simple order there’s nothing he could teach him. 

He’s equally annoyed and impressed when he hears the lumbering jackass following him across the ice with only minor hesitation. There is no doubt that this will be a miserable experience for them both. 

“If we are doing this I expect you to do something about your appearance,” If he is to lower himself to be seen in the company of a man like Ren, he’ll make damn sure it’s the least embarrassing he can make it. “Get skates like these,” He lifts a leg to show his pristine, white figure skates, he doesn’t miss Kylo’s involuntary flinch. “Do something about the hair and wear lighter clothes.” He smirks at Kylo who is restraining himself, fists clenched and a scowl so deep it could kill. 

They’ll focus on posture today, he can’t make anything usable out of the hunched shoulders and poorly balanced core as it is. Not bothering with asking for permission he starts correcting, giving clear commands with his hands alone. It takes some time to manipulate the tower of muscles at his, reluctant, mercy into something passable. Hopefully it will improve as they go along. 

“Show me.” He steps back, putting plenty of space between them for Kylo to move around in. 

Teeth gritted, Ren immediately drops the posture Hux manhandled him into, going low and fast as he’d seen him do in the highlight reel. He’s like a freighter on ice, a nigh unstoppable force coming at you faster than you can run. Without the little cones it’s a completely different show, coordination seems to be Kylo’s main problem. Quicker than Hux thought he would be, his massive shoulders and chest angled forward like a plow. He’d hate to be in the path of that, though he won’t give Kylo the satisfaction of admitting it. 

For all his speed and power, there is no finesse, no grace to his movements. It’s all sharp and to the point. He supposes that would be favourable in a bloodsport like hockey. With him, however, it will not do. He signals for Ren to stop, he’s seen enough. 

“Do you actually look where you’re going or are you blind?” Skating alongside Kylo is out of the question until he can trust him to not mow him down. He has a competition next week and can’t afford getting incapacitated by his new student. His father would kill him for it. Not bringing home a gold medal isn’t an option. 

“Catch.” He reacts just quick enough to catch the object Kylo throws him. It’s smooth, curved and slightly damp. Grimacing and imagining the worst he braves a glance. It’s an eye, a fucking eye. He shrieks, resisting the urge to toss the bloody thing as far as he can. When he turns to glare at Kylo he’s surprised to find a smile, no matter how smug it may be. It’s a nice smile. At least it explains Kylo’s issues with coordination, losing an eye would throw anyone off their game. 

“I should refuse to help you for doing that,” He hopes the venom lacing his words sting as he pushes the glass eye into Ren’s absurdly large hands. How far would they reach around his waist, he wonders. It’s a stray thought he kills without mercy. “Apologise.” The grin immediately falls from Kylo’s face. 

Not a word is said as he watches the eye go back into its socket, making no effort to hide his disgust. The urge to wash his hands is nearly overwhelming, but he stands his ground, he can’t let Kylo get away with such behaviour. It takes longer than he would have liked, but Ren eventually grinds out an empty apology. He must really be desperate for Hux’s help. 

“I’ll put you back on the ice if it means I get rid of you,” Straightening up he glides into a long stroke, motioning for Ren to copy. He does, clumsily, unused to the drawn out movement. “My name is Hux. I don’t expect you to know who I am.” He calls back to Kylo who’s lagging behind. 

“I know who you are.” Well now, maybe there’s hope yet. Kylo doesn’t offer his name in return, arrogant. 

Hux turns to watch him, Kylo’s form already adapting to the different way of skating. He’ll never be good, but he could be better. Hux is going to make damn sure he is. 

———

He has to force back a laugh when he sees Kylo the next day, his hair tied back in a bun, revealing his ridiculous ears. Ren glares at him, massive ears going red. If Hux didn’t know better he might even call it cute. Though he has to give credit where credit is due, Kylo actually listened to him and cleaned up. Gone is the bulky padding and hideous hockey jersey, replaced by a black tank and well fitted sweatpants. He’s secretly delighted that Ren’s bulk was not all an illusion. 

They spend the day repeating simple exercises to improve Ren’s spacial awareness. Soon Hux can approach Kylo’s right and fall into formation without issue. He doubts Ren will ever go back to competing in the intergalactic league, not with just one eye. At the very least he could coach, if he can reign in his violent temper. 

He suspects a lot of Kylo’s issues lay in his stubborn refusal to adapt. He understands losing a part of yourself isn’t something you bounce back from, but he has to make peace with how things are. Hux can’t help him if Kylo refuses to help himself. 

~~~

He’s still not sure if asking Hux for help was a good idea. Hockey and figure skating may both take place on the ice, but that’s the only comparison he can find. It was a last resort, just the thought of spending one more day tripping over cones enough to make him want to tear the entire rink apart. And then there was Hux with his infuriating skill and grace, mocking him from the very first day. 

Kylo knew of him, everyone did. The wonder child raised to do nothing, but bring home the gold. The best damn figure skater in the galaxy. Were he in a better mood he might have expressed his admiration, then Hux turned out to be the biggest dick in the galaxy as well. Asking him for help felt like kneeling before a Hutt in a gold bikini. It felt like the lowest moment of his life. Desperation makes people do stupid things, he supposes. And desperate, he is. 

Desperate to get back on the ice, back in the game. He wants, he needs, to get revenge for what Rey did to him and the only place he can do it is on the ice. Leia probably threw the little bitch a thank you party for what she did. Letting her get away with ruining his career is not an option, so fuck the medics. He’s getting back out there if it’s the last thing he ever does. An eye for an eye.

Phasma thinks he’s insane, but it’s a matter of pride. The Knights are getting crushed without him, without anybody to watch their backs. Phasma is a good captain, she knows they need him and he’s going to prove to them all that one eye or two he’s still got what it takes. He’s still the best damn enforcer in the league. But he can’t play if he can’t even hit the fucking puck. 

Tired and angry is a good way to describe how he’s feeling when he collapses into bed at night. He has a new respect for figure skating after only four days with Hux, repeating exercises on end and tripping over his fucking toe pick. It doesn’t feel like he’s getting anywhere. Everything hurts, muscles he was barely aware of having, stiff and sore. His bed feels like a cloud, knowing he’s expected back at the rink in a few hours makes it all the more precious.. 

When he arrives back at the rink Hux isn’t on the ice yet. He’s gotten so used to the beautiful redhead being there it almost feels strange to be alone. He’s playing around with a puck and feeling pretty good, it’s only slipped from his grasp once when Hux comes bursting into the stands. In all the time he’s spent in this rink with him, Kylo has never seen him show any emotion other than smug, nor has he ever raised his voice. 

The Hux that he’s seeing now is a completely different person, arguing with someone on his comm link. Eyes blazing, gelled hair slipping, he stomps towards the ice. When the call ends, there’s a few seconds of silence. “I’m not your fucking pet droid.” He speaks like those are words he’s scared to say, like he expects to get punished for it. 

He clears his throat, Hux whirls around looking like he got caught in the act, eyes wet and face flushed. Like flicking a switch, the mask falls into place. “Coach?” He tries to pretend like he didn’t just see Hux at the verge of tears. 

“Father.” The answer surprises him, he didn’t think he’d get one. 

“I can relate to that,” Leia sitting on her high and mighty throne telling him how to play hockey when the bitch has never played a game herself. “Come here,” He gestures to Hux, who keeps on surprising him by removing the guards on his skates and gliding over. When he’s close enough kylo demonstrates a slap shot, feeling proud when he doesn’t miss, before handing the stick to Hux. “Great anger relief.” He explains. 

Hux catches on fast, he’s impressed. Every puck he throws on the ice goes flying in a matter of seconds. They keep going until the bag at his feet is empty and the ice is dotted with the black disks. 

Hux is breathing hard, red hair in disarray, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Kylo’s mind goes to places it shouldn’t. Oh how he’d love to see that flaming hair fanned out across his pillow, that lithe body beneath him. Just the thought of how flexible Hux must be, is enough to make him think he should turn away before things get out of hand. Then Hux smiles at him and he knows, that asking for his help was a bad idea. 

And just like that, they’re back to doing pointless drills, spinning in lazy circles and weaving along invisible patterns. Having Hux at his side somehow feels more natural than any of his teammates. The thought throws him off balance long enough to bring his focus back to the present, making him more aware of the presence on his right. Not being able to see him is strange, but he’s all too aware he’s not alone. They don’t speak for hours, the only communication between them through touch, Hux reaching out to correct him or send him on a new path. Each firm touch feeling like fire on his skin and through his shirt. 

He only feels a little guilty when he jerks off to the memory of Hux’s smile and firm touch in the privacy of his own bed. If he didn’t think it’d result in the loss of his other eye, he might have done something stupid, like suggest Hux join him. It’s always worked for him before, but somehow he doubts the ginger would take kindly to getting propositioned by a ‘one eyed ape’. 

Instead he has to settle for his imagination. Stroking fast and rough as if a little pain is going to change how he feels about Hux. He comes to the thought of a warm mouth between his legs and slender hands on his chest. 

~~~

Deep down Hux hates competing. The immense pressure on his shoulders, the huge crowd watching his every move, judging. It’s something he’s learned to tune out through years and years of practice. He remembers his first big competition, how he let the pressure get to him causing him to stumble and lose his balance. The bruises his father gave him for it turning his skin blotchy and purple for a long time. Of course his face goes untouched, nobody bats an eye at a bruised figure skater. The ice is unforgiving and so is Brendol Hux. 

Forcing his nerves aside he straightens his tailcoat and bow tie. The white strip of fabric around his collar feeling restrictive. Applause roars through the rink as the next skater takes his place, Hux pretends he can’t hear it. 

He’s all too focused on his father standing next to him to pay attention to the man on the ice. He knows he should be eyeing the competition, finding weaknesses and adjusting his own routine accordingly. Instead he’s all to aware of Brendol’s eyes burning into his head, the looming thundercloud that awaits should he fail. It’s only through self preservation that’s he’s gotten to where he is, but sometimes winning isn’t good enough. 

He steps up when the music dies down, waiting until the blond on the ice has taken his bows and collected his flowers. The lights dim as he takes his place, the crowd falls silent. The classical piece his father chose swells in the air around him. Sucking in a deep breath he closes his eyes for a second before gliding into his routine. He’s done it a hundred times before, a thousand, yet it feels completely new under the gaze of thousands. 

It goes well, the applause deafening and flowers aplenty. Putting on a practised smile he collects his gifts from the flower children and steps off the ice. Brendol is waiting for him, no clue hiding in his face of stone as to his thoughts. Handing off the pile of flowers to his assistant he takes his seat, loosening his skates while waiting for the result. They read his scores, all perfect, apart from one. It feels like his chest is collapsing, he knows what that means for him. 

In the end a young Twi’lek takes the gold, standing proud next to Hux who’s forcing a smile as he bends his head for the silver. The medal is only about the size of his palm, but it weighs more than the world, its purple band a noose around his neck. He goes through the motions after that, knowing that the second he’s of out of view Brendol Hux is going to leave him with a new set of bruises. 

Heart hammering in his chest he resigns himself to his fate. Switching skates for trainers and walking to his punishment with as much pride as he can muster. He could run, but sooner or later Brendol will find him. It’s best to face it head on and get it over with. He’s learned to leave his skates behind. 

Brendol is waiting for him in an empty corridor. Approaching with his heart in his throat Hux stops before his father. He forces himself not to flinch as his father’s meaty hand grips the medal, using it to hold him in place as a fist drives into his ribs knocking him breathless. He started biting back any sounds when he realised it would only make the beating worse. 

His father’s face is cold and emotionless as he pummels Hux until he can’t stand upright, but for the grip on the medal. He’s let go, falling to the ground where a spotless, shined boot presses him to the floor, the weight increasing as his father leans down towards him. Tears are burning behind his eyes, he refuses to let them fall, he won’t give Brendol the satisfaction. 

“I didn’t raise you to come second. I expect better.” Brendol’s voice is as cold and empty as the rest of him, his breath reeking of expensive cigars and scotch. And just like that, he’s gone, footsteps fading into nothingness. 

Finally alone, he curls in on himself, tears falling freely. He can’t stay for long, getting caught like this is the last thing he wants, he’ll hide like he usually does. Wait until everyone has left and he can crawl home unseen. 

This day only continues to get worse, he thinks as gentle hands touch his back. “Hux?” Oh no, not him, anyone, but him. What’s he even doing here. He tries hiding behind his hands while Kylo lifts him off the floor like he weighs nothing and carries him into an empty storage room. It’s humiliating. 

“Leave me alone.” He refuses to look at Kylo, nobody has ever seen him like this, red faced, teary eyed and bruised. He must look like a spoiled brat to Kylo, crying over a silver medal. 

“Does he always hurt you?” The question is invasive, he wonders exactly how much Kylo saw. If he watched him get beat up without stepping forwards. 

“When I’m not good enough.” He feels compelled to answer, kylo’s soft touch breaking down his defences. It’s embarrassing that he leans into it, let’s huge, calloused hands pull his own away from his face. 

“You were amazing out there,” The praise is a soft blanket laid across his shoulders, even if he knows it’s not true. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He appreciates Kylo trying to make him feel better, but he hates getting lied to. There’s nothing worse. He tells him as much, watching a frown take over Kylo’s face. 

“I’m not lying, you’re always beautiful.” It’s then he realises that Kylo could actually help him, if only for a little while. 

“I want you to fuck me.” He blurts it out probably sounding as pathetic as he must look. 

“What?” Shock takes hold of Ren’s face. 

“Take me home and fuck me until I can’t stand.” He repeats, leaving no doubt that it’s an order. At least this way he can pretend his aching body is a result of a rough fuck. It’s not gone unnoticed the way Kylo looks at him. The lust shining in his eye an odd contrast to the emotionless glass of his other. 

Kylo obeys, a strange expression on his face as he leads Hux outside to his Speeder and into his apartment. Not speaking a single word the whole way. The door closes behind them and he feels like he’s back in front of thousands of spectators. The silence is deafening as he steps up to Kylo, ignoring the pain in his ribs at any movement. 

Grabbing handfuls of thick, black hair, he yanks Ren into a bruising kiss. This isn’t gentle, he doesn’t want gentle and he needs Kylo to know that. He bites and sucks on Kylo’s lips until the kiss is finally reciprocated. Let’s Kylo push him up against the wall and ravish him for as long as he can stand it. 

Kylo does eventually pull him into his bedroom, throwing him onto his bed exactly the way Hux wants him to. Fumbling with the bloody costume devolves into tearing at it in desperation. Kylo, taking pity on him, shreds the fabric with little effort and throws it away. His father will be angry, but right this moment he doesn’t care. 

Watching Kylo undress is hypnotising, the sheer bulk never failing to impress him. He’s perfect. Massive, strong and violent, exactly what he needs. Hux revels in the pain as Kylo settles against him, pressing him into the firm mattress with his bulk. The purple bruises, stand out in sharp contrast to Ren’s pale skin, ugly reminders that he’s not good enough and never will be. Trying to distract himself from it he drags them into another brutal kiss, biting until he tastes blood. 

A pained whimper escapes him when he twists just so under Kylo’s warm weight. He’s left feeling cold and exposed as Ren sits up and takes his hands off of him, reluctance painting his features. 

“What?” He snaps, eager to get on with it. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” An awkward pat on his bare thigh comes with the confession. The mood is ruined if it was even there to begin with. 

“I want you to hurt me.” Clean cut and sharp, he states his intentions. He doesn’t have time for sympathy. 

“No.” It’s not the first time he’s heard Kylo yell, but it’s the first time it’s been directed at him. He flinches out of reflex, hands coming up to protect his face, yet the fist never arrives. 

When he finally dares to look at Kylo again what he finds is unexpected. Where he thought he’d find anger, there’s only shock and sorrow, like he can’t even imagine a scenario where he’d actually harm Hux. Guilt that he raised his voice and was treated to a view of a trained coward, hiding in fear. Shame hits him like lightning out of a clear blue sky, coursing through his body and leaving him with the realisation of what he’s done. He should know by now to not try to defend himself in the face of punishment. He tried to force Kylo into something against his will when he should have pushed him away. This never should have happened, he’s only put himself in the way of more pain. Lowering his arms, he closes his eyes and waits. Let Kylo do whatever he wants. 

For what feels like an eternity Kylo doesn’t move, he expects pain, not the whisper of cloth as he’s enveloped in silken sheets and strong arms. It’s the kind of softness he’s only felt from his mother before she passed. A softness he never would have thought a shaved Wookiee like Kylo Ren capable of. For the first time in too long, he feels safe. 

It’s difficult to process that even after seeing how weak and useless he is, Kylo let’s him stay. That he doesn’t get thrown out after forcing himself on him and drawing blood from his lip. That he’s held against a warm chest in a bed not his own and he feels no desire to run away. 

The day’s emotional turmoil and physical strain catches up to him, exhaustion finally sweeping in. Being lulled to sleep by Kylo’s steady breaths is something he finds he could get used to. It’s a dangerous thought. 

~~~

It’s like a dream come true turned into a nightmare. When he found Hux in that empty hallway, crumpled and broken on the ground, he never thought this is where they’d end up. Had it been any other situation he would have fucked Hux into the mattress with vigour, but this doesn’t feel right from the get go. He gets enough of hurting people in his day job. It’s never something he’s particularly enjoyed in bed and seeing Hux beneath him beaten and bruised, eyes red and face flushed. He simply won’t do it. 

It breaks his heart the way Hux reacts when he tells him no, like he expects Kylo to hit him. It’s horrifying to think how long he’s been going through this. He’s willing to bet Brendol Hux barely waited for his son to grow out of infancy before starting to leave his mark. He’s vows right then and there to never lay a hand on Hux in anger and no one else will either if he has a say in it. If someone so much as reaches out with the intention he’ll break every bone in their body. 

Dragging the sheets from under them he wraps Hux up, covering as much bare skin as he can, and pulls him close to his chest. He’s still, so very quiet, against Kylo’s chest, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

The past week has been difficult, but he can’t deny the fact that he stumbles less, managing to pick up things on his first try. Having to relearn things that were effortless and taken for granted. Hux’s stupid exercises showing results. It’s time he started giving something in return. 

He feels like he’s given a precious gift when Hux falls asleep in his arms, it’s not long before Kylo joins him.

~~~

Hux is warm, very warm. Wrapped in softness and a comforting weight that smells like flowers. He revels in it, ducking his head towards the source of that magnetic heat. He can’t remember where he is, floating along in that soft place between sleeping and being awake. Until he rubs his cheek against the pillow that’s obviously a person. Well, fuck. 

If his costume wasn’t a heap of shredded cloth on the floor, he’d be escaping by now, though his shame feels almost tangible enough to wear. He sits up, flinching at his aching body, taking in the almost spartan bedroom doused in the glow of the aerial traffic outside. Kylo snores next to him, out cold and dead to the world. Under any other circumstances he might have found it amusing. 

Taking the sheets with him he slithers out of bed, kylo doesn’t seem to mind, rolling into the indent Hux left behind. For a minute he stands there, contemplating the situation, wondering how anyone can sleep so deeply in another’s presence before turning away from the nude visage on the bed. 

The first door he passes through leads to the refresher which is as bare as the bedroom. Locking the door he stands before the mirror above the sink letting the sheet drop. He’s used to it by now, seeing his skin turned into a kaleidoscope of bruises, but it never stops hurting. There’s nothing to be done for it. Rooting through the drawers and cabinets produces nothing else than a plethora of expensive hair care products. The majority intended for women by the looks of it. It explains why Kylo smells like flowers and exotic fruits. 

He’s starting to sense a pattern when the living room is as empty as the rest. The one decorative item being a glass case littered with trophies and a few photos of Kylo’s team. A closer look doesn’t reveal much. To his eyes it’s just another flock of goons. The one thing standing out being the blond woman who somehow makes Ren look small. 

Letting curiosity lead him he searches through the drawer at the bottom of the cabinet. In it he finds an old orange and white jersey, what looks like paper copies of contracts and a wooden box. Finally something interesting. The white wood is anonymous, nothing on the outside to indicate it’s contents. The small latch on the front opens without protest, a shiver of anticipation flutters past. Inside he finds more photographs, most of them containing an awkward, lanky, dark haired boy which is obviously a young Kylo. One of the pictures draws his attention in particular. On it stands a teenaged Kylo next to an older woman and a young girl, all dressed in the orange and white jerseys and smiling for the camera. They look happy. ‘Leia Organa with Ben Solo (17) and Rey Skywalker (8)’ is written on the back in neat letters. Ben solo?

A closer look at the jersey in the drawer reveals that it’s the same one in the picture. Across the back it reads SOLO in block letters above the number 44. Seems Hux isn’t the only one with family issues. The rest of the pictures in the box continue in the same vein, though only one contains a man Hux assumes is Kylo’s father. There’s no name or date. 

The very last picture at the bottom of the box is fairly new, the edges frayed from frequent handling. It’s of a ragtag team of children decked out in well cared for hockey gear. They’re all beaming like stars, surrounding Kylo who’s holding a sign made by the children, messy letters reading ‘Kylo’s Falcons’. It’s such a strange setting to see Ren in, but he looks at ease, grinning just as bright as his team. The glossy paper radiates happiness and he finds it seeping into his skin, tugging his lips into a rare smile. 

It feels like he’s looking at something he shouldn’t, a secret meant to be kept forever. He puts everything back how he found it before returning to the bedroom. Kylo hasn’t moved so much as an inch from where Hux left him. The clock display on the nightstand reads 05:33, he doubts he could fall back asleep now. He settles in the lone armchair by the window, resigned to watching the shuttles and speeders go past until Kylo wakes up. 

He tries to think of what to say when the inevitable conversation arrives, how to explain his way out of it while giving away as little as possible. Maybe he should just fuck Kylo anyway, distract him away from what he saw last night, re-establish himself as unfeeling. It’s never done him any good when others realise he’s human, it’s better if they keep thinking he’s a soulless droid. Unreachable and impossible to hurt. 

Still, he feels like Kylo deserves more than that, better. If anything he should cut himself out of Kylo’s life entirely, it would be the best thing for them both. Even if some selfish part of him wants to open up. Crawl back into bed and try to forget everything outside this apartment. 

Ren is still a clumsy brute in his eyes, but somewhere in the past week he’s become Hux’s clumsy brute. He’s proved himself to be more than a towering stack of muscle on ice. If this hadn’t happened, perhaps they could have been friends, now he’s not so sure he’ll be able to fight the urge to close off and push Kylo away. Right now he wishes he’d kept ignoring the angry hockey player instead of growing a heart. 

As time passes, the sun breaks through the early morning fog. Soft rays of yellow light emerging between the surrounding buildings, bouncing off of polished steel and glass. It only serves to drag his mood further down. The day has no right to be so bright and warm when people like Brendol Hux walk the streets below. It should be raining, a raging storm to carry out his wrath when he can’t. To flood the city and wash away the filth hiding in plain sight. 

He’d like it if his father drowned, struggling for breath as the clammy hands of death drag him under. He wants him to suffer, to get even just a taste of the pain he’s caused. If only he could find the strength to stand up in the face of danger and fight back. But he won’t. He knows he never will, if he’s even so much as caught thinking it. The consequences are too painful to imagine, his battered body a stark reminder of that. 

At exactly 07:00 Kylo stirs, his internal clock no doubt pulling him from his slumber. Hux watches as he pats around the bed for a few seconds looking tousled, long hair a wild mess hanging in his face. Finding the bed empty, Kylo surveys the room finally seeing him by the window. He opens his mouth to speak and Hux expects a greeting, not the gravelly grunt that emerges. It’s almost endearing, dare he say it.

Kylo, apparently, has no shame. Stumbling out of bed, he makes no effort to cover himself, scratches his ass like no one is watching and vanishes into the refresher. When he re-emerges he’s no more clothed than before, but the rest looks like it usually does, clean shaven and coiffed. He watches Ren move around the room, giving a wide berth to any and all furnishings. He supposes there’s no room for modesty when you regularly shower with an entire hockey team. 

He watches without shame, feeling like he’s allowed so long as Kylo doesn’t tell him otherwise. It’s a nice view, he’ll admit. So broad in contrast to his own slender frame, they would look good together on the ice. He can only begin to imagine how easily Kylo could lift and throw him, the memory of being carried clear in his mind.

“I’m sorry about your clothes.” Resurfacing in the real world he finds a curtain of black dangling from Kylo’s hand, an offering of sorts. A closer look reveals it’s a jersey, does this man own anything else? 

Grateful all the same, he pulls the shirt over his head, trying his best to ignore the way Kylo stares at his bruises. He’s not used to being this exposed, he can’t even remember the last time someone saw him naked. “I hated that costume.” He admits, soothing Kylo’s guilt over tearing it apart. “How about breakfast?” Food is the last thing on his mind, his appetite near nonexistent, but he would prefer pretending everything is okay over letting Kylo see deeper into him. 

“I’ll order takeout,” Takeout? Kylo makes a vague gesture towards his right eye when Hux raises an unimpressed brow. He finds it a bit strange that Ren would give up cooking, but not hockey. “Any requests?” Shaking his head is all the answer he gives, it appears to be enough. 

It’s first when breakfast is on its way that Kylo bothers to get dressed. Wearing a ridiculous black robe like some villain from a holo, the only things missing a cravat and fancy slippers. Or maybe a fur lining. At least he won’t have to look at his, frankly, unrealistically huge dick anymore. Though he might have preferred that over watching him clean his eye at the kitchen table. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to seeing Kylo remove the prosthetic. 

They spend breakfast in the same awkward silence that’s been hanging over them all morning. The food sits heavy in his stomach, but he eats anyway, making no comment when Kylo’s fork misses its target regularly. 

“Did you sleep well?” Kylo asks, like he didn’t find Hux curled up in a chair looking like death warmed over. 

Neither of them want to acknowledge what almost happened between them last night. As if they can pretend nothing ever did, by refusing to put words to it. Instead suffering though breakfast, stewing in shame and pity, respectively. He eventually replies with a noncommittal noise while chewing on an unknown vegetable. 

The silence persists like the figurative bantha in the room, heavy and imposing. Hux is used to walking on fragile glass around his father, only now he’s not scared he’ll get hurt. He really should have kept to himself. If he’d stayed away he’d never have slacked off on his training, he would have won. If anything his battered body is Kylo’s fault. Kylo fucking Ren with his broken hockey sticks, scarred face and stupid muscles. Kylo Ren with his crooked smile, deep chuckles and gentle hands. For once he’s the one wanting to scream and break everything in sight. Wants to blame everything on anyone, but himself. 

He knows Kylo isn’t at fault here, that it’s his own fucking mess he’s stepped in, he just doesn’t know how to clean it up. He’s been given much more than he deserves, Kylo should have just fucked him and kicked him to the curb. Disgrace would have been easier to deal with than drowning in a huge jersey and eating breakfast with a man that’s too good for him. Why couldn’t Ren have stayed the perpetual caveman with a club, beating his chest? Why did he have to be more?

The man himself seems to be oblivious to Hux’s meltdown, shovelling food into his mouth like there’s not a care in the world. He can’t help, but hate him a little, then Kylo looks up from his plate and smiles at him. Comparing it to the pictures in the box he concludes it’s not the same, he isn’t lit up like a glowing star, not anymore. Hux isn’t the only one sitting in a dark corner, he’s just more eager to give in. 

———

They never do have that conversation. Letting it follow them around, blending more and more into the background as the days pass. Soon Kylo won’t need him anymore, he’s getting better, the space between those orange cones getting steadily smaller, the puck less evasive. It pains him to admit that he’ll miss him, never really noticing how lonely he was until he had somebody to lose. If nothing else, he’ll still have the jersey that’s hidden away in his closet. He’s almost scared to wear it because it might stop smelling like a tropical paradise, which he finds absurdly comforting. 

Denying he’s a little hurt to find a beautiful, young woman having a very one sided conversation with Kylo would be pointless. He’s not sure why he thought Kylo would ever be interested in him outside of a pretty fuck anyway. She’s much better suited to him, and much less broken. In any case, it’s nice to see Kylo reverting to being a goon for a while. Glaring and grunting instead of using actual words. Leaving them alone is the least he can do, but he finds it a more selfish action than a respectful one. 

He waits it out by the locker rooms expecting her to pass him by like he was part of the furniture. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She pauses a few steps away, an inquisitive finger pointing his way. “You’re that guy, Hux,” She offers when he gives no reply. “Ben mentioned you.” Ben? There’s a little wiggle of a memory from weeks ago at the back of his mind, a gangly youth with a crooked smile. 

“Who?” The woman grins in a way he can only describe as shiny. 

“Kylo,” He didn’t think it possible, but the grin grows until she’s gone squinty. Surely her face must hurt. “You know, Obi Wan, Chewbacca Jr.” She continues on, feeding him blackmail material.

“And?” The prospect of embarrassing info about Kylo turning his mood in an instant. 

“Lord Tantrum,” How fitting. “Sir Grunts-a-lot.” She continues on with increasingly absurd nicknames, probably having caught on to him when he starts struggling to keep a straight face.

“I might know him.” He concedes. 

“I’m Rey, his cousin.” Ah, the little girl from the photo. 

“Have you always been this shiny?” She laughs, he can just about see the rainbows and glitter leaking out of her ears as she snorts behind her hand. He suspects if he stepped closer he’d smell bubblegum and cupcakes. 

“I can see why he likes you,” Still fucking smiling. Not for the first time he wonders why people are always so happy. “He blushed when you were mentioned.” She whispers behind her hand like they’re sharing a secret, like he doesn’t know Kylo wants to fuck him. “It’s nice, what you’re doing for him.”

“Well, I was getting tired of his tantrums.” He quips. 

A serious cloud settles over her and he can finally spot the family resemblance, realising he wouldn’t want to get in Rey’s path any more than Kylo’s. “He’s been difficult since he left The Rebels, more than usual anyway.” Follows like an afterthought, sounding like an admission of guilt. 

He knows nothing about Kylo, he realises, even though he’s been in his company every day for almost two months. Nothing about his family, where he came from, not even his real name. Not that he himself has been very forthcoming. Still, they’ve seen each other beaten down, on the verge of giving in. Broken. 

“Tell him his Falcons need their coach. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” Hux can’t honestly say he likes the woman marching away from him, but he does respect her. He wonders if the rest of Kylo’s family is as intimidating. 

Kylo is racing around the rink when he returns, burning off excess energy like Hux suggested, as opposed to destroying everything in sight. He watches for a while, taking in Kylo’s improved form, a surge of pride rising in his chest. He’s come a long way from tripping on his toe pick to a level of elegance Hux didn’t think him capable of. If it wasn’t for the murderous scowl he could have been an amateur figure skater absorbed in his training. 

“I met your cousin,” He calls out as Kylo sweeps past, tripping over his toe pick like he hasn’t done in weeks. “She’s, uh, nice.” Lie, she’s frightfully happy at best and the way Kylo looks at him makes him think it’s a shared sentiment. 

“Nice?” The incredulity in his voice let’s him know they agree. “If she was fucking nice, she wouldn’t have done this to me.” Oh. The woman in the highlight reel. “She ruined my life, took away the only thing I had left.” He gestures at the rink angrily, the bite in his voice making Hux automatically step back. 

He knew Kylo was bitter, angry about the loss of his eye. He thought he’d started to make peace with it, but the anger bleeding into his face tells a different story. Tells him about a deep seated pain that’s been festering inside Kylo for years, encouraged instead of soothed. He doesn’t know the full story, but he knows enough to recognise that Kylo Ren and Ben Solo are two different people, torn apart by rage. 

“She took my family, my friends, my career,” Eye blazing with anger he counts off each point on his fingers. “And it’s only a matter of time before she takes you.” He flinches when Kylo jabs a finger at him and he can see the instant Kylo realises what he’s doing, the way the anger drains away. 

“Hux?” All of a sudden he doesn’t feel much like practicing today. He turns away without saying a word, ignoring the heartbreak on Kylo’s face as he wipes at unwelcome tears. Not sure what to do about the emotions coiling in his chest, making him feel like he’ll burst, he walks away. It’s unlikely Kylo meant him any harm, but the fear overrules everything else.

Outside, the smoggy air does nothing to ease his fear, it gathers thickly in his lungs, Kylo’s enraged face playing on repeat in his mind. Heart hammering against his rib cage, he leans on a nearby lamppost, surroundings blurring. Everything feels out of reach, yet, too close at the same time.

The lot is empty, bathed in early morning sun that’s cool on his skin, he shivers. Eyes closed, Hux grips the lamppost like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground, like he’ll fall away if he lets go. 

A door slams open, he flinches as if he’s been hit. The horrible sound of unprotected skates on asphalt reach his hears before warm hands cup his face, a distant voice telling him to breathe. He leans into the heat until he hits something solid, trying his best to listen, to breathe. Lungs burning, he draws a deep breath, a familiar scent washing over him. “I’m so sorry,” Ground solidifying under him, he moves his grip from cold metal to soft fabric. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” The words are on repeat, drawing him out of his panic until he’s clinging to Kylo like a lost child. 

Finally feeling less like an untethered balloon in a storm and more like himself, he unsticks his clammy face from Kylo’s shirt, trying his best to gather whatever dignity he has left. If Ren doesn’t think him pathetic by now, it would be a miracle. He hates himself for letting his guard down so easily, for putting on such a weak display. At this rate he’ll have to move to a different planet to feel better about it. 

He must look a proper mess, clammy with cold sweat, hair in disarray where it’s come loose from the gel. It’s too embarrassing to look Kylo in the face so he keeps his eyes glued to the ground. Somewhere along with his returning senses he finds a small gap that he fills with mourning over Kylo’s skates. 

“Who are the Falcons?” It’s an attempt to draw the attention away from himself, to distract Kylo while he collects his mind.

Kylo takes the bait, well aware of what Hux is doing. “They’re my team. It started out as a favour to Maz, who runs the orphanage, then I got attached.” He says, voice warm with affection. “I haven’t been back since...” The sentence doesn’t need an end, Kylo’s insecurities saying enough. 

“You should, I’m sure they won’t mind.” Hux smiles at the ground, finding it endearing that someone like Kylo likes children well enough to coach a team of them. He’d never have the patience, one overgrown brat more than enough. 

“I’m not the same person anymore,” It’s a weak protest. “Besides, they have Rey now.” The bitterness returns to his voice. 

“I’m sure they’d rather have you.” Two rows of glowing smiles surface from his memories. The pride shining in Kylo’s eyes. He hopes one day, his friend can find his way back to the person in that picture. Can shed this poisonous self pity and realise that there are people who miss him, people who love him. 

“What if I got angry? What if I hurt them?” This appears to be a day for emotions. In a weak attempt at comfort he moves from gripping Kylo’s shirt to a meek hug. It’s awkward, he’s way too skinny to give good hugs, he hopes his intentions come across. 

“You wouldn’t,” He says with absolute surety. “You’ve come a long way from breaking hockey sticks and screaming at nothing.” He gets a brief chuckle for his efforts, it’s better than more moping. 

“I guess so.” A heavy hand finds its way onto the back of his neck, fingers tugging gently at his hair. 

What a pair they make, he’s glad nobody is around to see them like this. If word ever reached his father that he hugged a man, death would be imminent, but at the moment, he finds doesn’t care as much as he should. Actually having a friend is a first, he decides then and there that he won’t let Brendol take this from him as well. This way he’ll at least have company while he waits for the old bastard to die. 

———

The words “I have a plan” don’t usually lead anywhere good and it’s generally ill advised to agree. Especially if they come from one Rey Skywalker. Why he said yes can be explained in one word; Kylo. This is why he’s standing outside the stone facade of Kanata Orphanage in the slums. A hint of guilt lingers as he climbs the steps, he’s about to meet Kylo’s Falcons without the man himself. It feels like a betrayal. 

He’s never been in this part of Coruscant, so far from the finery he’s used to. Weary of every person that passes. He must look like an easy target in his expensive clothes and shined boots. For a minute or two he contemplates turning back, unsure of why Rey asked him to come. Then he remembers a smile he’s never seen in person. He’s certain Kylo won’t be happy about him cooperating with Rey behind his back, but he hopes the result will make up for it. Hopes that he can bring back the sun in Kylo’s smile.

Not knowing what he’ll find on the other side of the weathered door is frightening. He doesn’t like children. The prospect of entering a building full of them is more terrifying than any crowd of spectators could ever be. There’s only one thing for it. Steeling himself for the unknown he pushes the door open. 

The inside is no less battered then the facade, but unexpectedly spotless. Some deity or another must have shown him pity as there are no snotty spawn in sight, only the mismatched furniture of the lobby. A hodgepodge of second-hand finds and donations, styles and colours clashing horribly. The longer he looks, the easier it is to imagine Kylo lugging the ugly furniture around, directed by the mysterious Maz. She must be something truly special to have earned Kylo’s respect.

He’s only been standing there for a little while when a tiny figure appears from seemingly nowhere. Maz Kanata is terrifying, which is not the impression given to him by Rey. She’s tiny, ancient and orange, but she has a look about her that has him straightening his posture. He can see now how she managed to tame Ren.

She assesses him from a few feet away, taking in the parade rest his father drilled into him at an early age. Fiddling with the settings on her goggles, she examines him thoroughly. Brown eyes looking into his very soul, making him hyper aware of the bruises he earned two days ago. It doesn’t feel like an entirely ridiculous notion that she can see them somehow. See the blue wrapped around his neck beneath his strategically placed scarf. 

“You must be the boyfriend.” Protesting is futile, though he still tries until a bony finger gestures him closer. There’s surprising strength in the hand that tugs on his scarf and he hopes that she doesn’t notice him tensing up in response. 

Up close her eyes strip him of all defences, leaving him at her mercy. He feels only shame as she unwraps the scarf, like a child caught hiding a dirty magazine. When Kylo had done the same this morning he only felt guilt for failing his father, even when thick arms held him close. 

Maz doesn’t need to ask any questions and Hux knows he won’t have to explain. Running an orphanage, the woman must have seen her fair share of abuse and the invisible scars left behind. 

A soft smile stretches her features, “You’re early.” She says, pulling him along by his arm. 

Waiting patiently in the chair she directs him to he listens to her talk while wrapping the scarf back around his sore neck. Mostly lighthearted complaints about Rey’s tardiness and various anecdotes about the Skywalkers. It’s interesting, full of information Kylo, Obi Wan, she refuses to call him anything else, would never give up freely. Like how he’s named after his god father who passed not long after he was born. He even learns that Kylo is 29, dyes his hair and has a penchant for sweets. She’s a veritable goldmine of information. 

By the time Rey does arrive, followed by an oddball group of children, he’s been fed to bursting, given a set of stickers and a piece of candy from somewhere in the outer rim. He has a vague feeling that he’s been adopted. This tiny alien showing him more affection in an hour than Brendol has in his entire life. It is a nice change, though overwhelming, feelings he didn’t know he had bubbling to the surface. 

She greets Maz like an old friend, ridiculous smile in place, before turning to him. “Meet the Falcons,” She waves enthusiastically at the children, a hodgepodge of various ages and species. “This is Kylo’s boyfriend.” What is he doing that makes everyone assume that? He makes an aborted attempt at protesting when he sees how they all light up at the mention of their coach, a veritable tsunami of questions rushing at him. They somehow manage to be worse than an entire crowd of gossip reporters. 

Not sure what they know about Kylo’s absence he settles for a vague reassurance that he’s ok, just busy. Taking extra care not to mention anything about his eye and the problems it’s caused. In hindsight, he supposes, it’s better that they think he’s the boyfriend instead of the actual truth. He’s sure Kylo would prefer it that way. 

The plan, as it turns out is to trick Kylo into seeing the Falcons. It’s insane and he’d never agree to it if he didn’t know Kylo would never go back on his own, too scared of their reactions. He’d suggest something else if Rey hadn’t already started arranging a charity game, drawing interest on the rivalry between the Knights and the Rebels. She’s brave, he’ll give her that. 

“You have to get him to accept.” Which is easier said than done. Convincing Kylo to get back in the game without giving himself away won’t be easy. He’ll have to appeal to his thirst for revenge. Tempt him with the opportunity to face Rey without legal consequences. Poke the bear, as it were.

~~~

It’s not often people call him, it’s become even more of a rarity after his career ended. Nobody has any use for a washed up hockey player. Hux is the only person he has left after Snoke cast him aside for losing an eye. It still hurts to think about the man who took him in, who claimed to care, then turned out to be yet another manipulative, old, fuck. If Snoke hadn’t fed him with anger, twisted him into a weapon, he might have been a different man. A better man. Then again if he’d never left the Rebels he wouldn’t have met Hux. Two months ago he would never have thought it possible that he’d feel a measure of happiness about what lead him here. 

Seeing Phasma flicker into focus is a pleasant surprise. “I have an offer.” No pleasantries, as usual. Straight to the point, it’s part of why he’s always liked her, no frills. “The Rebels have challenged us to a game for some charity. I want you in it.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Admitting to it feels like catching a puck with his face, it’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged it in words. 

A clever smirk stretches her lips, a glint in her eye, “I pulled some strings,” she says. “Everyone agrees you should get a proper send off.”

He’s itching to say yes, fucking hell, yes. But it’s not that simple. Hux’ll probably kill him himself if he went looking for blood. “I’ll think about it.” He settles on instead.

“Don’t take too long, the game is in three weeks. I’ll save you a spot on the bench.” With that she ends the call, leaving him in the silence of his own apartment.

Something is afoot, since when has Snoke or the Knights bothered with charity games? It’s not like he can go digging either, whatever it is, it’s clearly aimed at him. What other reason could they have for dragging a half blind man into a brutal sport. Considering who it’s against, it’s most likely a money ploy. The betting poll will be huge, bloodthirsty fans wanting to see him fight Rey. A golden opportunity. 

Hux would know what to do, he’d never approve of Kylo getting into a fight, but he’d understand, right? Not like he has anyone else to ask for advice, Maz is too biased. 

Brushing up on his shots is more or less pointless, they don’t want him to play, but it’s a familiar comfort. The pleasant burn in his arms and shoulders, the stick flexing under the pressure. Hux is spinning in circles, bending in ways Kylo can only dream of, stopping from time to time to watch the pucks go flying into the net. He’s never felt more comfortable in his life. 

“What would you do if you got the opportunity for revenge?” The question slips out before he can think it through, how it might sound to Hux.

Hux comes to a stop, green eyes regarding him with caution. “Revenge on who?” He asks.

“Phasma wants me to play a charity game so I can fight Rey, and Snoke can earn some extra credits.” It really is more about morality than what he himself wants and Hux’s moral compass is significant superior to Kylo’s. 

“Your shiny cousin?” He waits for affirmation, continuing when Kylo nods. “I’d take the opportunity. Take back some of what’s yours, it’s only fair.” He’s surprised by the answer, he expected Hux would want him to take the high ground. At least Hux seems to dislike Rey as much as he does. “What’s the charity?”

“I don’t know, probably some disease.” Or the homeless, they seem to be a popular cause nowadays. Hux scoffs at him, running a hand through his gelled hair. That spot of bright ginger had been what first caught his attention, until he got close enough to see Hux’s eyes. The enchanting green never failing to draw him in and haunt his dreams, he can only imagine what they’d look like clouded in lust. There had been only fear and desperation that night. A need to forget, to pretend that nothing was wrong. 

If only he could do something for Hux, take him away from his waking nightmare. He would do it in a heartbeat, if he had the right, he’d strangle the life out of Brendol Hux with no remorse. He’d spend every last credit to his name, anything at all, on giving Hux a new life. Naboo is always nice, lush and green as opposed to this urban hell, they could make a home there, away from everybody else. 

There’s no rule saying he can’t bet on his own fight, if he can get someone to do it for him no one has to know. It would be a colossal fuck you to Snoke and he could use the money to get Hux off planet. It’s a moronic plan, probably the worst thing he’s ever come up with, but it’s all he’s got. 

“I have an idea.” The second he speaks Hux looks dismayed, not in a cruel way, but like he has little faith in those words. Like he’s heard them one time too many. He looks so cute when he rolls his eyes in that haughty manner of his that Kylo just can’t resist. 

There is only a breath of hesitation before Hux responds, softening into the kiss. 

“I like this plan.” Hux mutters when they break, flushing almost as red as his hair. Kylo can’t help, but kiss him again, feeling so warm he could melt the entire rink, he should have done this weeks ago.  
———

Getting Phasma on board doesn’t take as much bribery as he expected, the woman having a surprising soft spot. He must have reached something beneath her armour. Either that or looked about as smitten as he feels. Whatever it was he won’t question it, he hasn’t had much luck in his life so he’ll take it as it comes. Of course, this all happens after she’s done laughing at him for going soft in his retirement, calling him Prince Charming an unnecessary amount of times.

Now all he has to do is show up and fight. 

———

Hux looks like he’s ready to commit genocide when he steps onto the ice an hour later than usual. He could give any goon a run for his money. Doing a terrible little spin ending in a tada gesture is a weak attempt at cheering him up, but it does draw an exasperated smile out of him. 

“My speeder broke down, I had to take public transport.” Kylo has to hold back a laugh at the sneer on Hux’s face, looking like there’s no worse fate than a public shuttle. 

It surprised him at first how ignorant Hux is to everyday life, little things like laundry and grocery shopping. Then it stomped on his heart when he realised why. Learned how sheltered he’d been his whole life, always training, striving for the perfection expected of him. Now it’s as endearing as it is sad. 

Giving Hux a ride home at the end of the day is expected of him now, not that he minds. He’s used to being told what to do, only not by someone as pretty and willing to thank him for his trouble. Hux is the first boyfriend he’s had since he was a teen, his busy career making him settle for meaningless encounters. It’s nice knowing that Hux will always be there when he goes to sleep, tousled hair and prickly cheeks tickling his skin. He’s a cuddler, winding his long limbs around Kylo, not unlike a constricting snake around its prey. There’s no point in whining about it, he supposes. He snores and Hux clings, they’re both terrible bedmates. 

He hates it when Hux has to go back home, when he can’t come with Kylo and be safe. It’s the first time he’s seen where Hux lives, the penthouse with its private landing pad giving off a vibe more likened to a sarlacc pit than a home. Cold and impersonal. This isn’t somewhere he wants to leave his boyfriend. Going by the look in Hux’s eyes, he doesn’t want to be here either. 

Climbing out of his speeder takes more courage than he’d care to admit, but he’s determined to see this through. It feels like they’re being watched as they approach the door, a sense of dread filling him with each step. Hux is silent next to him, rigid and devoid of expression. Seeing him like that is truly awful. Gone is the clever smirk and cocky attitude, replaced with a husk barely resembling life. A shadow. 

End of the line, he may as well be walking Hux to his execution, the thought alone makes him feel ill. The tension between them is straining, they both know what’s waiting on the other side of the door. He tries to reassure himself that maybe Hux won’t get hurt today, maybe Brendol will turn a blind eye to the man bringing his son home. Maybe. He wants so badly to reach out, wrap Hux up in his arms and never let go, but the security cam above the door stays his hand. He won’t risk making this worse than it already is. 

The silence is deafening as Hux presses his hand to the biometric scanner. The doors hiss open letting out a wave of warm air, like a puff of stale breath from the maws of a monster. 

“Thank you for the lift.” His tone is curt, like Kylo hasn’t heard since their first week together, devoid of its usual exasperated affection. He’s offered a polite handshake when the looming figure of Brendol Hux appears in the hall, big and heavy. 

Hux’s hand is cold and clammy, holding onto his a fraction too long. “Armitage.” It’s a warming, the grip on his hand turning to steel, pleading eyes finding his. ‘Please don’t leave me.’ 

“Go get your things,” The world stops, boils down to this one moment in time. He’s never been more ready and determined to fight in his life. Hux looks between him and his father, shock evident on his face. “He can’t have you anymore.” He clarifies when nobody moves. 

Kylo presses down the hallway, taking up as much space as he can, Brendol doesn’t move an inch, crinkled eyes twitching. They’re the same green as Hux’s, but these are ice cold. 

“Who do you think you are, pup?” The words are laced with venom, spat in his face by a man who’s never seen opposition. “What makes you think you can come into my home and take what’s mine.” A fat finger jabs him in the chest, he grits his teeth, having to resist the urge to break it clean off. 

He looms, drawing to his full height, shielding Hux who quickly shuffles past. “I’m someone you should be very scared of.” Making sure to keep his voice level he steels himself for the fight that’ll no doubt arrive any second. He can’t make the first move, he won’t. Self defence is defendable, assault is not, no matter how deserved it is. 

When the first punch is thrown he’s teetering on the edge of giving in, consequences be damned. It hits him square in the jaw with more force than he expected. Stumbling back Kylo gathers himself as quick as he can, rushing Brendol and checking him into the wall, pressing with all his might. Hux Sr. may throw a mean punch, but he’s not used to someone fighting back, his attempts at warding off Kylo’s fist pathetic at best.

Their fight quickly devolves into something more akin to a wrestling match, both relying on their strength to overpower the other. But where Brendol is used to being the bigger one Kylo has spent years brawling with ruthless goons, bigger and stronger than him. Calling it a fair fight would be lying. 

It’s not long before he’s got the upper hand, knees digging into meaty shoulders as he holds Brendol to the floor. It takes all the willpower he can muster not to tighten his hands around his fat neck, only the thought of Hux keeps him from giving in. 

Minutes, hours, he’s not sure how long it’s been when Hux returns, the bag he’s hefting falling to the floor when he takes in the scene before him. He looks terrified, wide eyed and frozen, Kylo can’t look away. 

A stupid mistake, his grip slackening enough for Brendol to throw him off and drive a hard elbow into his head. The room spins as he hits the floor, the sticky warmth of blood already spreading. He’s vaguely aware of Hux calling his name while thick hands close around his throat, crushing the air from his body. 

Black spots are clouding his vision, the outside world made up of static, blood pooling in his mouth from his bitten tongue. Then, just as he’s about to pass out, the pressure relents. 

And there’s Hux, standing above them clutching a lamp in shaking hands, seething with rage. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He coughs, drawing deep, gulping breaths. Scrambling up off the floor on unsteady legs he plucks the lamp from Hux’s slack grip, dropping it without a care. 

He stands frozen, all the fight gone out of him, staring at his unconscious father sprawled on the floor. Kylo doesn’t blame him. Hopefully Hux will process it as breaking free, reclaiming his life. 

“It’s ok, we’re ok.” Is what he wants to say, it comes out as more of a wheeze as he clumsily strokes Hux’s face. 

“Fuck!” The outburst takes him by surprise, pride glowing in his chest when Hux lands a few good kicks in his father’s side. He pretends not to notice the tears glittering in pale lashes, instead dragging the heavy bag outside to give Hux a moment alone. 

Nearly collapsing against the speeder he clambers into the passenger seat, still feeling like there’s not enough air in the world. He tries to take stock of his injuries, bitten tongue, swollen in his mouth, blood in his hair. Carefully prodding at his neck causes a burst of pain. Everything is slow and sluggish, fading in and out of focus, the city below a mess of white noise. 

When he comes to again it’s to the pleasant cold of an ice pack around his swollen throat. Gentle fingers sticking a bacta pad to his aching head. It lasts only a minute or two before he lets himself drift back off into a soft, dark place. 

~~~

Kylo fucking Ren, such a fucking idiot, a brave moron. Hux might be in love. Standing up to his father is something he never thought anyone would do for him, then along came Ren. Somebody must have dropped Kylo on his head when he was a baby, it’s the only explanation he can find for the sheer amount of stupidity the man is capable of. 

He realises very quickly he’s going to need help. Looking after Kylo’s injuries he can manage well enough once he calms down and gets far away before his father wakes up. His father, by the gods, he can still hear the crack of the lamp connecting with its target. A shudder runs through him. 

Kylo is still passed out in the passenger seat, slumped against the window, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth. He’s desperately trying to remember Kylo’s address, navigating through the flow of traffic, as best he can. 

He jumps, heart in his throat as the comm-link in the dash chirps to life. It lights up with a holo of the towering woman from Kylo’s pictures. A friend, good. He answers the call, holo flickering to life. She takes one look at him before letting out a long suffering sigh. 

“I’m guessing he’s either drunk or dead if you’re driving.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Unconscious actually.” He fiddles with the imager until it’s facing his idiot boyfriend. 

“I’ll meet you at his place.” She’s completely unbothered by the situation, acting like it’s an everyday experience. Which is fair enough, if he thinks about it, for her it probably is. 

True to her word, she’s waiting in the parking garage of Kylo’s building when they arrive. Just as tall and intimidating as her picture would suggest. She wastes no time, offering a quick handshake and her name before bodily dragging Kylo out of his seat and lifting him like he weighs no more than a loth cat. A worried silence hangs over them in the elevator, broken only by Kylo waking up to spit a mouthful of blood and glare at the ceiling for a few seconds. 

The tension is significantly eased when Kylo stays awake, seeming more like his usual self if it wasn’t for the deep bruises on his pale skin. He never should have asked for a ride home, if he hadn’t Kylo wouldn’t have been hurt. He should have just walked away before he got too deep. Before he drug Kylo into his misery as well. He feels fucking useless as he waits for Phasma to do her work. 

He looks around the apartment, something new has been added each time he’s been here. Today it’s an expensive looking rug, the corner flipped up like it’s been tripped over. It’s a nice little thing, Kylo’s home looking less clinical and more lived in. 

Rifling through his bag gives him something to occupy his hands with. He doesn’t own much worth bringing, most of his possessions decided by his father. Finely tailored clothes and expensive skates. His one indulgence being Kylo’s jersey, kept carefully hidden. He exchanges his tracksuit jacket for it, nearly drowning in the excess material. 

He paces some more, listening to Phasma fondly berating Kylo. Makes a cup of tea, having to open almost every cabinet in the kitchen before finding some ancient herbal tea in a dusty corner. It tastes like cupboard, he drinks it anyway. 

“The brat is going to make a full recovery.” Phasma isn’t one for greetings, apparently. Dumping an astounding amount of medical supplies on the table she goes to root around the fridge like she owns the place. She emerges with a take out container Hux has no interest in knowing the age of. 

“You must be something special,” He shrinks under her scrutiny. “He’s changed a lot since I last saw him.” She mumbles around a mouthful of lord knows what, waiting for an explanation. 

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should trust her at all. She’s in on the plan, according to Rey, most of the Knights are, but he’s never been one to trust easily. Who’s to say she isn't working her own angle.

“He asked for you.” She states when it becomes clear he isn’t going to explain anything. Grateful for the out he slips away. 

Kylo is lounging like a king, acting like he wasn’t almost murdered a couple of hours ago. The swelling has gone down a little, Hux feels the guilt well up at the angry bruises circling his neck and blooming across his jaw. 

“You kept it.” Kylo smiles, voice hoarse and scratchy as he gestures to his Jersey. 

Face burning red, he clambers onto the bed, carefully tucking into Kylo’s side. “It smells like you.” He admits, feeling more than hearing the amused rumble in Kylo’s chest. 

It’s strange to think he’ll never have to go back home, that, hopefully, he can stay here, if Kylo is willing to put up with him. He’s free. He sighs, feeling some of the day’s tension leave him. The novelty of cuddling is something he doubts will wear off anytime soon. Kylo’s solid warmth against his side still seeming more like a dream than reality. 

The heavy guilt in his stomach makes him feel awkward, causing him to stumble through the customary ‘are you okay’ conversation. The open concern on Kylo’s expressive face twisting the knife deeper. Hux wants to apologise, beg forgiveness for almost getting him killed, but the words won’t form. A ball lodged in his throat as he gestures weakly, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

“I’m sorry.” He manages to croak out, not used to being at a loss for words. Certain his wet, splotchy face is all too off putting he burrows into Kylo’s offered embrace. 

Kylo doesn’t speak, neither of them well versed in soft words and comforting, just cradles Hux to him with big, reassuring hands. He’s always felt safe in Kylo’s bed, free to be himself and never pressured into anything. Enveloped in the kind of warmth that makes him feel small in the best way. 

It’s peaceful. Kylo’s steady heartbeat under his hand as he snores in Hux’s ear, Phasma watching a holovid in the next room. Alarmingly domestic. A stray thought of settling down flashes by, but he forces it away. Sooner or later Kylo will tire of him, realise how broken he is. With his limited patience Hux is surprised it hasn’t happened already, until then he’s going to take everything he can get. 

~~~

Hux is uncertain, it’s obvious in his posture, the way he looks at Kylo like he’s expecting him to snap. It’s evident in how he seems to think he has to earn his stay, cleaning and cooking like he’s in a fairytale scenario. Kylo hasn’t cleaned his own apartment in years and he doesn’t expect Hux to do it for him, not like he isn’t rich enough to hire a cleaning droid. The cooking leaves much to be desired, in fact, he’s not sure if Hux has ever cooked a proper meal his entire life. At least good food is something Leia insisted he learn how to make, though he’s still hesitant to wield a knife again. Wouldn’t do him any good if he cut his own fingers off. 

Hux also doesn’t sleep much. The number of times he’s found him sitting in that worn chair by the window, watching the sunrise. As beautiful as it is to watch the warm light dance across his delicate features, turning his vibrant hair even more enchanting, it disappoints him that he never gets to wake up next to his boyfriend. Gets to see those green eyes crusted with sleep, feel warm breath ghosting over his skin. He wants Hux to feel safe.

Patience is a virtue, an oft repeated line of Luke’s, that and tolerance. Always trying to keep him out of the penalty box. Being patient with Hux is surprisingly easy. He can’t help, but think, maybe even hope, that his uncle would be proud of him. Proud like he was before Rey picked up a hockey stick and he became obsolete. Snoke offered him exactly what he needed, encouraged him to use his strength instead of telling him no. And in a painful repeat of history, Rey showed him up and he became old news. 

Then he found Hux. 

He’s lost everything twice, his life spinning out of control. Hux has given him something new, hope. Hope that he might be good enough after all, that he’s still worth something. Repaying him with patience is the least he can do until he has the means to get him away from this cesspool of filth and greed. 

If all goes to plan, he will tomorrow. In a week they can be gone. They can vanish into the darkness of space, far away from Brendol, and the Organa-Skywalker-Solo clan. No more expectations, no more endless days of training. They could be smugglers, flitting across the galaxy, settle down in a village by the sea, they could even find a planet to claim for themselves. Spend their days living off the land, nobody to bother them. 

He knows it’s a far fetched fantasy, but what if? What if they can both live out their lives happy? Free from people wanting to own them, tell them how to act and what to say. It’s a hope he's never going to let go of for as long as he’ll live.

———

Apprehension gives way to excitement as he steps into the arena with Hux at his side. He knew he was going to miss hockey, but the blunt force of it leaves him breathless. Just for a little while he can pretend that nothing ever went wrong. The deeper he goes into the labyrinthian halls circling the rink, the further the pumped up atmosphere envelops him. Trampling feet and loud voices carrying through the levels. It’s a full house, he’s told, people eager to watch hockey’s biggest rivals face off in what they hope will be a bloody brawl. 

Stepping into the locker room is like coming home, an embarrassing blush staining his cheeks when Phasma bursts into cheer, the rest of the team following her example. He knows he’s being mocked, but he can’t find it in him to care. He barely even notices when Hux leaves to take his place alongside the trophy wives in the club seating. A venomous crowd, Hux’ll fit right in. 

Dumping his bag at an empty spot he starts gearing up, giving no sign that he’s willing to put up with prying questions. Talking about the fading necklace of bruises or the scar splitting his face is the last thing he wants right now. Any reminder that this is a one time deal, that he’s no longer fit for this, lessening his enthusiasm for the game. 

He realises how far removed he’s become as he listens to Coach Peavy’s pre game speech. Choosing to ignore most of it is probably a bad idea, but he’s not here to play, he’s here to rack up penalties and bash heads. That’s what they want him to do, so that’s what they’ll get. He’s under no illusion that he’s wanted as anything other than the most brutal goon the league has seen since Anakin Skywalker. 

A barrier of sound greets them as they approach the ice, the second he’s through it he lets go of everything outside. The cheers become deafening when they announce his return, building hype around him and Rey. 

Keeping to the outside of the fray during warm up, his right side to the boards, like Hux taught him, he inspects the crowd. The high society sociopaths in the front rows, the bloodthirsty masses filling the arena. Snoke, lurking in his private box far above, preferring to remain detached from the public filth, as he once told Kylo. He stares resolutely ahead as he passes Han and Leia, who prefer to be closer to the action, pretending not to notice how their eyes follow him. 

Hux is exactly where he expects him to be, but instead of surrounded by high society frippery, he looks right at home next to Maz and the Falcons. Fuck. He realises very quickly that he’s been tricked. The urge to run and hide is strong enough that he doesn’t notice the collision course he’s on until it’s too late. And thus starts the first fight before even the game itself. It’s short and quick, the Rebel too surprised to defend herself before she gets checked into the boards. Loud cheers follow him as he takes his spot on the player bench, bending his head to keep the cameras from getting a good shot of his face. 

He spends a total of twelve minutes in the penalty box throughout the first period, during which he ignores Hux and the Falcons. It’s more difficult when they’re so close, right there next to him, the glass separating them seeming so thin. However, he would be lying if he said their cheers don’t ease his anxiety. He hates the little bud of hope that’s unfurling in his chest. 

Avoiding Maz was a conscious choice he made the second he saw his face, ugly gash splitting his already uneven features. It stood as a symbol of everything he couldn’t be, of his family’s betrayal, of the monster Snoke molded him into. The moment it happened replayed in slow motion on every sports channel for weeks, feeding his rage. He got back on the ice because he wanted to prove he was good enough, wanted to show them all that he would not roll over and die. A pointless battle with his own demons. 

Seeing the Falcons again after so long is a painful as it is joyous. They were the most difficult part of his life to leave behind, Maz the one person he had kept from Ben’s life. She’s been keeping his parents informed behind his back, he knows there’s no stopping her so he never bothered to try. The woman is a force to be reckoned with, set in her ways and impossible to budge. He learned this the hard way. She’s also the one person who refuses to call him anything other than Obi Wan, it grates on his nerves and she knows it, effectively using his own name to keep him in line. 

Like now, where she’s banging her little fist on the glass, tearing into him with his full name. Humiliation is one word for it. Face burning as he has to sit there and take it while this tiny, orange alien tells him off like she would her children. Hux is laughing, the sound cutting through everything else. By the time his penalty is over he’s fighting to conceal a smile. 

The second period is much the same as the first, his total of penalty minutes rising steadily. He stopped keeping count once he passed the one thousand mark a few years back. He could ask, but he’s almost afraid to know. 

During the second intermission the Falcons take the ice opposite another junior team. Pride wells in his chest as he watches them on the screen mounted in the locker room. 

“You’ve trained them well.” Phasma comments with a smirk, he should have known she was in on this. 

“Who else is in on this?” A murmur pass though the room, several people raising their hands. 

“Rey planned it all,” Kylo feels like he’s been stabbed, his perfect cousin repeating the past and charming everyone to her side. “I can’t stand her, but she made a good point. We had to drag you out of your self dug trench of misery.”

“I don’t need you to drag me out of anything. I was perfectly fine.” Letting the murderous scowl on his face say the rest, he turns back to the screen. 

“That’s what you call fine?” She points at his faded bruises. “You didn’t look fine when I had to carry your unconscious arse home last week.” That was a low blow, the heavy silence that descends on the room a clear sign that everyone knows it. 

“Hux was out of his mind. Whatever you did, it was monumentally stupid. Is it a goal of yours to suffer?” The words sting like shards of broken glass, itching under his skin, feeding his anger.

“I had to!” He cuts her off before she can keep accusing him. “If I hadn’t stepped in that would have been him,” Fists clenched, he can barely contain himself. “I couldn’t let that happen.” Taking a deep breath in an attempt to expel some of the tension building up doesn’t work as it should. Grabbing the nearest hockey stick and snapping it over his knee is much more satisfying. Mitaka says nothing when he hands back the splintered remains. 

Phasma looks unimpressed, a single, neat eyebrow raising. “You done?”

“Your Falcons miss you, you brat.” He tunes her out, taking his leave to wait out the remaining minutes by the ice. 

He’s not been on the ice for more than a few seconds before getting his first penalty in the third period, high sticking Finn, who used to play for the Knights. Blood drips down on his face, staining the white fabric of his jersey. Kylo smirks, stepping into the penalty box with no shame. 

With only a minute left of his penalty something drops into his lap. Looking up in surprise he finds Hux holding Muga up to the glass, a gap toothed smile on young Rattataki girl’s face. Hux is smiling too, painted lips stretched wide, he doesn’t seem to mind being used as a ladder. 

With Muga’s stuffed tauntaun in hand the world looks a little brighter. 

The moment they’ve all been waiting for, crowd buzzing with excitement when he takes his spot next to Rey to the right of the face off. Formalities are pointless. Gloves off, sticks down. He’s tired, sweat gluing his undershirt to his skin, for once the urge to fight escapes him. 

Rey shakes off her gloves, putting up her guard, looking every bit as reluctant to fight as Kylo feels. Everything freezes to a halt around them, camera droids circling like vultures. 

This is his chance, his one shot at revenge. Hux meets his gaze, sending him an encouraging smile. Glancing at Han and Leia reveals nothing, but disappointment. The benched players nearly falling over the boards in anticipation. 

The chant of fight, fight, fight, stutters when he drops his guard. It’s quickly replaced by protest when he offers Rey his hand in truce. He’s sick of being just a goon, proving that he’s not is a much better revenge than putting Rey in the hospital. Taking his hand in a firm shake, she grins widely. Shiny, like Hux said. 

The entire arena is in shock, raging with protest as he puts his gloves back on and readies his stick. The puck drops. 

———

Hux is already there when he arrives, gliding elegantly across the ice, accompanied by awed sounds from the Falcons. He taken well to being a hockey coach, the kids skating way better than Kylo ever could have taught them. 

Dumping the box of new gear by the gate he’s content to just watch his boyfriend dazzling his team. Looking on he’s glad for what he did, for choosing to stay here. For spending his I’ll earned winnings on new gear for the Falcons instead of running away. 

Some part of him is still bitter, itching to beat his infuriating cousin, take her down a few pegs. Even if Maz would never let him hear the end of it. He had to settle for chucking his eye at Rey, who screamed satisfactorily, the last time they saw each other. This time Hux laughed alongside him.


End file.
